


the line that divides

by Iris_Duncan_72



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Demons, Domestic Violence, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Meld, Protectiveness, Torture, author needs a nap, basically the king is an asshole, didn't expect that but it's there now, how did i forget those, in case anyone panics, it's mutual, this was meant to be short, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:29:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22674109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iris_Duncan_72/pseuds/Iris_Duncan_72
Summary: Through a series of vicious lessons, Jisung is taught that demons are wicked monsters.  But what exactlyisa monster?
Relationships: Bang Chan/Han Jisung | Han
Comments: 55
Kudos: 343





	the line that divides

Jisung first meets the demon when he is five years old.

He vaguely recalls his mother protesting that he was too young, but his father’s word was law. So little Jisung goes with the king and half a dozen guards down into the dungeons, an area that was usually off limits to him. It is cold and damp and unpleasant down here and he stays close to his father as they pass iron-barred cells filled with angry people. The king has told him these people are kept down here because they have committed “treason”. Jisung isn’t sure what “treason” is, but he knows it must be very, very bad.

They leave the cells of yelling people behind and Jisung’s momentary relief turns into a spike of fear as an old door is unlocked with huge clanking keys. Behind it lies another downward staircase and even by the light of the lanterns, it is quite dark. These steps are tall and Jisung has difficulty climbing down them with his short legs. In an unexpected moment of kindness, his father picks him up carries him the rest of the way.

At the bottom of the stairs is another door that requires another key. Jisung is set on his feet and told to stay behind the king at all times and be very careful. His solemn agreement given, Jisung is permitted to follow his father through the doorway into what appears to be an enormous room, even colder and wetter than the last ones, lit only by the lanterns held by the guards. Flickering light illuminates stone, stone, and more stone.

Then Jisung sees the man on the ground. He is lying face down, he has no clothes on, and there are thick cuffs of metal around his wrists and throat, all connected with lengths of chain to the wall behind him. He is also covered in cuts and bruises and other injuries Jisung’s young mind does not yet recognise. If his hair weren’t matted with blood, it might be silver.

Jisung is horrified and he whines, clinging to his father’s trouser leg. For once, the king does not push him away, only rests a hand on his head and orders a guard to wake him up. To Jisung’s continued distress, that seems to mean shouting at the man and jabbing him with a long, metal-capped staff until he groans and twitches.

‘This, Jisung, is a demon,’ the king says. ‘Demons are wicked creatures and must be controlled in order to keep the kingdom safe. The only good demon is a dead one or one with a collar of blessed steel.’

A guard kicks the demon-who-looks-like-a-man in the ribs impatiently and nearly loses his foot, the demon whipping around with a guttural snarl in a startling flash of movement. But the chain attached to his collar is too short and the demon coughs and chokes, barring sharp teeth inches from the guard’s leg. Jisung whimpers and the demon’s head snaps around again, searing silver eyes finding his with unerring accuracy. He growls, louder than any of the palace dogs, and Jisung recoils.

‘Do you know why demons are wicked, Jisung?’ the king asks. ‘There are many reasons and you will learn them all in time, but for now, this will do. Bring in the prisoner,’ he instructs someone.

An iron grate door opens off to one side and Jisung sees a scary guard hauling in a skinny man who shrieks and struggles. The demon snarls again, his attention riveted to the prisoner.

‘This is what demons would do to us all if they were allowed to live freely,’ Jisung’s father says, and the guard shoves the terrified man into the demon’s reach.

Faster than anything Jisung has ever seen, the demon crunches his teeth into the prisoner’s thigh and blood spurts like a fountain.

The prisoner screams.

Jisung screams.

The demon rips a mouthful of glistening flesh from the writhing man’s leg and the blood goes _everywhere._

Jisung keeps screaming, long after he is carried out of the awful room that will plague his dreams for months to come.

He sees the demon again when is ten.

Memories of his last trip through the dungeons and down the steep staircase fill Jisung with sickly fear as he once more follows the king, but he is older now. He knows that demons are wicked monsters because they hunt humans and kill them whenever given the opportunity, so they must be found and executed first. He knows it is his duty to learn from his father how to treat demons, no matter how horrible, because one day Jisung will be king.

The demon looks exactly as he did five years ago. He frightens Jisung terribly but, at the same time, the young prince feels a wavering in his heart – the demon is chained and naked and hurt badly. Muscle clings to his otherwise slender figure and Jisung abruptly understands that the demon has been starved. The realisation sours his already queasy belly.

‘Demons are exceptionally resilient creatures,’ the king says, while a guard rouses the demon as violently as last time. ‘They can suffer immense injury and linger on the edge of death almost indefinitely. When killing a demon, you must be thorough to ensure it is actually dead.’

Dread creeps over Jisung’s skin as he tries to remain impassive. He is almost not a child anymore. One day he will be king. He should be able to withstand this. He _must_ – his mother is no longer here to protect him from his father’s wrath.

To Jisung’s surprise, however, the barely conscious demon bound to the wall is not killed. Instead, the iron grate door creaks open and in walks another guard dragging a limp body by behind him by the manacles on its wrists. He carelessly drops the unclothed, abused body (which is missing one of its arms) on the stone ground, out of the demon’s reach. Jisung’s eyes widen as he sees the mangled remains of one eye and then again when a faint moan rises from the body – how are they not _dead?_ They look like they should’ve died a long time ago.

The single whole eyelid slowly rises and the glint of silver he sees chills his blood. There is no doubt in him that if this were a human, they _would_ be dead.

A strange noise suddenly pierces the air and Jisung jolts, gaze darting around to find the source. His eyes land on the demon chained to the wall and the ice in Jisung’s veins sharpens. The demon is straining towards his broken kin, the shrill whining apparently coming from his throat. The demon on the ground twitches and manages to tip their head back, a much more distorted sound sliding past bloody lips.

‘They’re pack animals,’ the king suddenly says, and Jisung nearly jumps. ‘See? Trying to comfort one another until the last second.’

He sounds derisive, disgusted even, and Jisung wants to ask why that is a bad thing. Don’t humans do that? But he’s frozen, staring at the chained demon as he... _croons_. Jisung tries his very hardest not to see all the similarities between demonic and human expressions of grief, which is difficult, as the demons look just like humans.

‘We have learned all that we can from this one,’ the king continues, gesturing to the broken demon. ‘It isn’t strong enough to come back from this edge, which means it’s useless. Do you know what we do with useless things, Jisung?’

He can guess. He hates that he can guess, but he’s fairly certain he’s right. No doubt that will be proved one way or another in the next minute. Fortunately, his father is monologuing and doesn’t require a response, meaning Jisung doesn’t have to convince his voice to work (he’s not sure it would).

‘We dispose of them,’ his father says coldly, and the guard’s sword slithers from its sheath and stabs through the demon’s one remaining eye.

Their whole body jolts violently, blood gushing out, and Jisung comes within a hair’s breadth of throwing up. The demon falls still and the guard removes his blade, wiping it clean on a vaguely clear area of the corpse’s skin.

‘As I said –’

The king’s next words are drowned out by the sudden, ear-shattering scream that rips from the bound demon. Everyone flinches and the demon strains furiously against his chains, roaring like thunder. Jisung stumbles backwards, hands over his ears, and accidentally meets the demon’s shining eyes. The silver stare burns into his skull and he is helpless to look away. He wants to scream, too, scream with the pain and rage he sees in the demon. In this moment, the demon is no monster. He is an all-too-human creature mourning the loss of his kin.

The guard slams the pommel of his sword into the demon’s skull and it collapses with a groan. The king starts talking again, as calm as a tutor lecturing to his students, and everything resumes as normal.

Jisung doesn’t make a sound until he is safely tucked into the privacy of his own room later. As soon as the door shuts behind the maid, he grabs the fattest pillow off his bed, buries his face in it, and screams. He screams until he starts crying, the sobs shaking his small body, and he has to remove the pillow before he chokes. Silver eyes on fire haunt his dreams that night. Needless to say, he doesn’t get much sleep.

Jisung is thirteen when his father next takes him to see the demon in the bowels of the castle.

This time, he knows it is coming. There have been a higher number of skirmishes on the kingdom border between the army and the slowly increasing numbers of demons coming up from the mountains beyond the southern border. The last few went badly, the soldiers suffering mightily at the hands of their blood magic-wielding enemies. As a result, the king has been angrily storming through the castle, cursing and shouting, which inevitably means more executions of those thought to be demon sympathisers or, worse, have demonic blood in them. After all, until sixty odd years ago, relations between the two peoples weren’t so terrible. Jisung’s grandfather had put a sharp end to that.

So Jisung isn’t surprised when the king commands him to accompany him down to the dungeon. An expectant sort of dread coils in his gut as they make their way down the stairs and through the locked doors.

The demon is not on the floor this time, instead slumped against the wall, head resting on his chest. He looks skinnier than ever but more of the silver in his hair is showing, the curls less matted with blood. His head jerks up as they enter the cold stone room and his thick lips draw back in a quiet snarl, fierce hatred radiating off him as he shifts into a crouch, the chain around his throat not permitting him to stand upright.

This is the most undamaged Jisung has seen the demon and he has an awful premonition that, by the time they leave, this will have changed.

‘Not only do demons possess exceptional healing abilities,’ the king says, beginning the afternoon’s lesson with his hands folded calmly, ‘but they are also capable of regeneration.’

Jisung’s breath freezes in his lungs and he presses his palms firmly against his thighs to keep them from curling into fists.

‘For some, that means only chunks of flesh or skin, maybe their fingers and toes. For others...’ The king trails off, approaching the demon until he is just outside his reach. ‘It means entire limbs.’

He turns back to Jisung with a cruel smile and it takes every ounce of Jisung’s strength to keep any of his reactions from his face. His father wants to put on a show, make a demonstration of this. Jisung’s only role is to be silent and attentive.

Once more, the iron grate door creaks open and in comes a guard carrying a small table. He sets it down by the king and Jisung swallows hard at the array of gleaming implements on it. Some of them he doesn’t know, but all of them look capable of inflicting horrific pain. Some, like the cleaver and the hammer and the pliers, he recognises all too well.

‘This one is very strong,’ the king continues, gesturing for the guard to select an item from the table. ‘It regrew an arm in less than a month with barely any nourishment at all. I wonder if it could survive the loss of a leg?’

As it turns out, yes, the demon can.

The prince’s palms bleed from tiny crescent cuts and he can’t eat anything without throwing it back up for the better part of three days, but he doesn’t say a word, doesn’t betray any emotion. Thus, he survives, too.

Jisung turns sixteen and is legally no longer a child, but an adult. He feels none of the excitement he felt as a young boy about this fact because he knows what it means. He knows what his father will expect of him now.

Indeed, the day after his birthday, Jisung is called to accompany the king down to the demon’s dungeon. The demon is missing a hand and his mouth is smeared with blood, giving him a more frightening appearance than usual as he growls at their arrival.

‘My son, the time has come for you to prove yourself as a man,’ the king declares jovially, clapping Jisung on the shoulder as they stop before the demon. ‘It is only fitting that you do this by drawing first blood, and whose blood better to spill than that of a foul monster?’

Jisung’s heart pounds in the back of his throat. He cannot be sick. He must not be sick.

‘Come now, make your mark against the creatures you will one day slay in battle!’

Apparently the king means this literally, for a guard has emerged from behind the iron grate with a branding iron. The sigil is the royal coat of arms and it glows golden, the heat of it washing over Jisung’s face. With the full force of his father’s stare heavy upon him, Jisung slowly reaches out and takes the handle from the guard, grunting at the surprising weight of it. He turns back to the demon, who is crouched by the wall, eyeing him avidly. The demon’s face is not twisted into a fierce snarl, as Jisung would have expected. Instead, his expression is severe, one of single-minded focus as he stares at Jisung with unblinking silver eyes.

Three grudging steps place Jisung directly in front of the demon, barely out of his reach. Still the demon does not recoil nor roar nor attempt to attack him. He simply watches, looking like he can see into Jisung’s head and read every one of the desperate, panicked thoughts running around in there.

Jisung has the sense of standing on the edge of a sharp precipice. Once he steps off, there’s no going back. He will have indelibly marked himself as an enemy even as he marks the demon as the same. No longer will he be able to hide behind the fact that he is only here because of his father, that he is an unwilling observer, a passive participant. No, he will be every bit as bad as the king himself.

Unbidden, a memory of the queen floats past his mind’s eye. The screaming fury she’d been in when she found out exactly what the king had forced Jisung to witness that first day in the dungeon. The unflinching width of her shoulders as she went toe to toe with the most powerful man in the kingdom, remaining unyielding against his rage and his threats until he promised not to take Jisung down again until he was ten.

Jisung misses his mother.

‘The brand is cooling, Jisung, do not delay any longer.’

_This is wrong,_ he thinks, staring into inhuman eyes. He’s sure his mother would agree with him, were she here. She’s not, though, so he does something that will cost him dearly but which he knows she’d be proud of.

Jisung drops the branding iron onto the stones.

The silver eyes do not blink. Icy quiet settles like a shroud over the room.

‘Pick it up.’ The king’s voice is flat and cold. ‘Jisung, pick it up.’

His heart is beating so fast he fears it might break through his ribs, but he shakes his head. Steeling his spine, he turns to face his father, chin dropping at the clear anger he is faced with.

The king strides over to him and Jisung curses himself for flinching slightly.

‘Pick the damn thing up and do as I have said,’ the king snarls.

‘I won’t,’ Jisung replies, his voice no louder than a whisper. ‘It – it would be cruel.’

He only registers the slap after it’s happened and he’s spun away, breath stuttering in shock. The whole side of his face burns and Jisung bites the inside of his cheek to hold back any sound of weakness.

‘Idiot boy!’ his father shouts. ‘There is no such thing as cruelty with demons! Human morals do not apply to them!’

He seizes Jisung’s shoulder and forcibly turns him so that Jisung sees the king pick up the orange-red branding iron and plant it in the middle of the demon’s chest. An agonised scream rips from the demon as he violently jolts and the smell of burning flesh almost makes Jisung gag.

The king spins back around to face him, his expression livid, his eyes maddened. ‘There! If you don’t have the stomach to be a man, so be it. I pray to the ancestors that you will have grown some balls for next time. You will stay here until the brand is cool.’

With that, he storms out. The guards follow him, leaving a single lantern behind, the dim light casting more shadows than illumination.

Jisung’s knees give out immediately and he sinks gracelessly to the floor, his face throbbing with building pain. He cradles his head in his hands, panting, while behind him the demon groans and hisses. Jisung immediately feels worse – why is he complaining about a paltry slap when the creature behind him was just _branded?_

_I defied Father... and didn’t die. He didn’t kill me. I disobeyed him._

These thoughts loop through his mind, drowning out everything else. Somehow, he has done the unthinkable and survived. No, the slap wasn’t fun, but it was an open-palmed one, so hardly as bad as it could have been. And anyway, in the scheme of things, a single blow counts as getting off lightly.

The demon is readily available evidence of that.

‘That was stupid of you.’

Jisung yelps in shock, whipping his head around and nearly falling over as a result. He stares at the demon in disbelief.

‘Did – did you just –’

‘Heroics don’t count for much down here, princeling,’ the demon growls, his voice rough and low.

Blinking rapidly, Jisung attempts to formulate a coherent response. ‘I, uh. I wasn’t trying to be heroic. It was cruel. It was –’ _wrong,_ he doesn’t say, because that way lies treason.

The demon regards him impassively. ‘Next time,’ he rumbles, ‘do as your father tells you. Your defiance will not help either of us.’

Somehow, that stings more than the slap had.

Jisung grits his teeth and immediately regrets it as his head pounds, making him relax his jaw at once. He breathes slowly through his nose, willing himself not to wobble. Then he says firmly, ‘No.’

The demon’s expression does not flicker and, only slightly unsteady, Jisung picks up the lantern and leaves.

They return a month later and this time Jisung is offered a whip, with the command to flay the flesh off the demon’s back. He refuses and is once again slapped hard enough to knock him to his knees, the king calling him a feeble coward unfit to be prince. The demon says nothing to Jisung after his father abandons him on the floor, though, to be fair, he might be a bit distracted from the terrible wounds on his back.

The next month is the same, only the weapon of choice is a short spear to be used for stabbing one of the demon’s eyes out. Jisung’s refusal ends predictably – with the demon’s howls of pain and Jisung on the stones.

The following month marks the return of the branding iron. The king slaps Jisung hard enough that he blacks out for a few seconds, regaining consciousness with a splitting pain in his head as a result of collapsing face first onto the ground. The dungeon is empty of all but him and the demon, of course, and a strangled sob of pain tears from his throat when he tries to sit up.

‘Don’t rush, idiot,’ the demon snaps, breathless with his own pain.

Jisung is not in much of a state to reply, so he simply lies there until he can move without his stomach rolling. Slowly and carefully, he then pushes himself to his hands and knees.

_‘I hate him.’_

The whispered words trip off his tongue before he can think about them and vicious fear follows quickly. Barely moving his head, Jisung flicks his gaze over to the demon watching him.

‘Don’t – don’t tell anyone I said that,’ he mumbles in a panicked rush.

The demon cocks his head, chest still heaving. ‘Who would I tell, princeling?’

Jisung swallows, cautiously sitting back on his folded legs. ‘My father. Then he would get very angry at me and – and hurt someone who isn’t you.’

The demon stares at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed, sweat trickling down his temple. ‘I have no wish for that,’ he says at last.

Jisung doesn’t bother to hide his surprise. He’d have thought the demon eager to sow discord amongst his torturers, no matter how unwilling they were. ‘Oh... Alright, then. I’ll – I’ll trust you.’

That gets him a raised brow. ‘A dangerous decision.’

‘I don’t think you’ll betray me.’

The demon snorts faintly, looking away briefly. His silver eyes slide back to meet Jisung’s, though, and after a pause, he rumbles, ‘My people come.’

‘Huh?’

‘Now I have trusted you with something too, princeling. We are even.’

And why the _hell_ would the demon care about that? ‘I – how do you know that? I already knew it, anyway,’ Jisung adds. ‘It’s all anyone’s talking about.’ This is true; only this morning did the king send more of their army’s forces south to help defend the border.

Ignoring his question, the demon says, ‘And yet, I have given you this information in trust. We each hold a secret from one another.’

Jisung frowns. ‘It’s not a secret, though,’ he insists.

The demon just blinks at him.

It takes a while for Jisung to feel confident enough to stand, but when he tries, his vision flickers and he crashes onto all fours again. Pain flares with a vengeance in his head and he sobs, squeezing his eyes against the tears that threaten.

‘Use the wall, princeling,’ the demon snarls, almost scolding.

Jisung doesn’t question the advice or any possible motives behind it and as soon as he is able, he crawls to the wall by the door, ever so carefully dragging himself upright. He rests for a minute with his head leaning on the stones. Eventually, he starts towards the exit, halting just before he leaves.

Meeting sharp silver eyes, Jisung says quietly, ‘I won’t hurt you next time, either.’

Impossible though it is, he feels that fierce stare following him even after the door is shut.

The choice is taken out of his hands the next month, however.

‘If my son is truly a coward, then I might as well not have a son at all. Certainly, no such son could ever be considered fit to rule,’ the king says coldly. He holds out a short spear. ‘Pierce the demon’s gut or take the punishment in its place.’

Jisung goes very still. There is a faint ringing in his ears and his hands tremble, fight or flight instincts screeching at him. He stares at this father and his father stares back.

_The demon won’t die,_ a little voice whispers in the back of his head. _But you will._

Jisung doesn’t want to die. He really, really doesn’t. His life has only just begun and he’s determined to find more to it than _this_. But if he is ever to do that, he has to walk out of here alive. His breath rattles in his chest and he hates his father for putting him in this position, hates his grandfather for starting this war with demonkind, hates the demon for not being the monster he’s supposed to be, hates himself for even considering the ultimatum. It would be so much easier to wound a monster, but Jisung has had his own ideas about who exactly the monsters are for years now.

_You are useless if you are dead. You can’t help anyone then._

And the demon won’t die.

Jisung sets his jaw and takes the spear.

He knows how to use it, but he’s never stabbed anything more alive than the training dummies down in the courtyard. He doesn’t meet his father’s stare as he steps back, turning to the demon sitting quiescent by the wall. Silver eyes lock on his own, watching him as he approaches. Jisung’s gaze flicks down to his target, an expanse of pale, grimy skin littered with scars, and he tightens his grip on the shaft. The demon stiffens, bracing for an attack, but otherwise remaining motionless.

Jisung almost, _almost_ , wishes the demon would lunge for him, snapping sharp fangs at him and hissing in fury. It doesn’t happen, though.

‘I’m sorry,’ he breathes on a shaky exhalation quiet enough to pass unnoticed by his father.

The demon’s lips draw back from his teeth but his gaze remains unwavering, practically inviting Jisung to strike him.

_Breathe in –_

Jisung hefts the spear –

_– and out –_

– the blessed steel blade bites into the demon’s flesh with ease, rending skin and muscle, blood spilling thick and fast from the wound. Jisung yanks the spear back out and the demon shudders, every line of his body taut. A discordant yowl works its way up his throat, escaping through gritted teeth as his eyes flutter shut. He sucks in a shallow breath, head rolling to one side, and a bead of sweat slides down his temple.

The taste of ash coats Jisung’s tongue as he stares down at what he has wrought. When applause rings out behind him, he shivers with the repressed urge to raise the bloodied spear again.

‘Perhaps there is hope for you yet,’ the king declares approvingly, patting Jisung on the shoulder. His cold gaze finds his son’s and smirks. ‘A man at last.’

Casting a satisfied look over the wheezing demon, the king sweeps out of the dungeon, followed by the guards. As usual, a single lantern is left behind.

Jisung barely waits for the sounds of footsteps on the stairs to fade away before dropping the spear and sinking to his knees. He’s trembling again, a vicious wave of self-loathing choking him and filling his eyes with tears he doesn’t deserve to shed.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers fervently, his voice cracking. ‘I’m so sorry. You – you should’ve done something, should’ve stopped me. I didn’t –’ _no excuses, Jisung_ – ‘I’m _sorry,’_ he repeats uselessly. ‘So – so sorry.’

‘You did what you had to,’ the demon hisses, making instinctive little pained sounds every time he jostles the sluggishly bleeding wound. His hands twitch, rattling the chains, trying in vain to reach his belly.

Jisung wishes he could do something, _anything_ to help, but it will be dangerously obvious if he does. ‘I – I broke my promise to you,’ he mutters, vision blurring. He doesn’t blink, keeping the tears trapped at his lash line. ‘I _hurt_ you.’

‘Did you really think you would be able to avoid it?’ the demon snaps breathlessly. ‘You are the son of the one who murders my people without cause.’ He bites off the final word with a whimper, pausing a moment before continuing, ‘Surely you were not that – that _stupid_ to think you could keep your hands clean of demon blood for long.’

The caustic words burn like a knife between the ribs or a kick to the chest. Jisung’s whole body is shaking and his lips are numb, so when he blinks, he scarcely feels the tears dripping down his face. Pain-filled silver eyes meet his and he cannot make himself speak, cannot admit that yes, he had been that stupid. That _naïve._

It doesn’t matter that his tongue won’t shape the words – the demon can see the truth in his eyes.

‘This is _war_ , princeling,’ the demon growls. ‘You are on one side and I am on the other.’

‘Would you kill me now if you could?’ Jisung regrets the question even as he asks it.

Nostrils flared, the demon narrows his eyes. ‘Yes.’

Well.

What was Jisung expecting, really?

He drops his head, sees tears splash onto the backs of his hands. ‘I understand,’ he whispers.

Jisung doesn’t sleep at all that night, alternating between pacing his huge bedroom and staring through gossamer curtains at the sprawling castle buildings and away down the hill towards the city. An unpleasant combination of guilt, anger, and confliction swirls within him, keeping him wide awake, and he knows he will get no rest until he resolves this.

It is as the demon said – Jisung is the son of the man responsible for perpetuating his own father’s condemnation of an entire species. Jisung was _born_ on a side of this war; there has never been a choice for him. His father expects loyalty from him, the whole kingdom does, even the demons do – but Jisung has no wish to be a rallying point for unfounded, unchecked hatred. If that is all his life is to be... perhaps he should have refused the king a fifth time.

_Never again,_ he decides as the world lies quiet around him, lit by the first rays of false dawn. _I won’t be like Father. I won’t be like Grandfather. And I won’t be like the demon._

The demon is the living embodiment of rage, loosely held together by an entirely too breakable body. Jisung doesn’t want to be like that, either.

The situation in the south worsens rapidly and the king departs the castle ahead of the bulk of the kingdom’s army before he can take Jisung down to the dungeon again, sparing the prince from having to pit the strength of his vow against his father’s iron will. It will take them a fortnight at least to reach the border and the days quickly turn to weeks and then the weeks to months. Without the long shadow of his father looming overhead, Jisung experiences a liberty he has never had before. True, the shadow has not gone far, but he will take what he can get. As he is an of age crown prince, Jisung is technically the most powerful person in the whole city, let alone the castle. He cannot interfere with matters of government and ministry, of course, but no-one has the right to stand in the way of his royal purview.

Half a year passes by and Jisung is finally confident enough to flex his princely authority by ordering the doors down to the demon’s dungeon be unlocked. He wears a long knife at his hip and rests a hand on the pommel when he voices the command to the Master of Keys. Let them think he is following in his father’s footsteps with a hunger for the blood of those who have done him no wrong. Armed only with the sheathed blade he has no intention of using and a lantern, Jisung leaves the anxious guards at the top of the stairs and makes his way into the demon’s dungeon. There is a breathless sort of anticipation in his veins, one he associates with some of his foolhardier childhood stunts.

This, however, is significantly more reckless and with far loftier stakes.

The demon hisses and recoils when the lantern light hits him and Jisung immediately wonders if anyone has been down here since his father left. In turn, that begs the question of when the last time the demon ate was.

Setting the lantern down near the door, Jisung walks a little closer and asks, ‘When did you last eat?’

The demon lifts his head, shaggy silver hair glinting with the movement. ‘What purpose does your question serve, princeling?’ he rasps. ‘Perhaps your father has tasked you with testing my limits through starvation.’

Jisung squares his shoulders, hands clasped behind his back. ‘You have a secret of mine, I have a secret of yours, and neither of us have revealed them to anyone else. What purpose does that serve?’

After a pause, the demon replies, ‘It has been... a while. I am nearing a level of weakness I may not be able to recover from.’

‘Has anyone been down here since my – since I last visited?’ He wants to be certain.

‘No-one _visits_ but your sire. And you,’ the demon adds.

As Jisung suspected, then. ‘I will make sure you are fed when I leave,’ he promises.

The demon’s head rolls on his shoulders, tipping to one side. ‘Why are you here, princeling?’ His voice is an unreadable rumble. ‘Not to use the blade you carry, I think.’

Rocking on his heels, Jisung shrugs a shoulder. ‘The king may not be here, but appearances must be kept up.’

‘Oh, I _see.’_ The demon sits up a bit straighter. ‘That’s what all the commotion was about – your sire has gone to battle my people.’

How he knows that, Jisung cannot even _begin_ to fathom so he just puts it down to being a demon. Still, he is a little surprised that the demon worked it out so quickly. Clearly the lack of food has not dulled that agile mind.

‘Correct. Reports say that it’s going well for us, but – tell me. Are your kind coming as once you said they were?’

Sharp silver eyes bore into Jisung. ‘You ask such dangerous questions, princeling. I do hope you haven’t forgotten which side of the line you stand on.’

As far as Jisung can tell, there are two lines – the one separating demons and humans, and the one between good and evil. To many, especially the king, those lines are one, but to Jisung, they don’t match up.

He says none of this, only, ‘You want to kill me, remember? I’d have thought you’d be the last one to caution me.’

The demon’s nostrils flare and he growls softly, making the hair on Jisung’s nape prickle. ‘Do you have a death wish?’ His tone is utterly serious.

‘No,’ Jisung answers immediately. It’s just that he’s realised the line he’s staying behind isn’t the one his father is staying behind, that’s all. Well, maybe he’s also trying to do something about it, too.

Again, these are sentiments he keeps to himself.

‘I hear no lie,’ the demon says, ‘so I will believe you.’ Thick lips purse together, then part on new words. ‘For it to have taken this long means that neither your sire nor my brethren have won this battle, though the humans are unlikely to consider it in such a way. My people will have recognised that they cannot defeat you presently, so they retreat back to the mountains. Following them there will bring death, nothing more, and your sire is no fool.’

Jisung blinks in shock, the thorough answer entirely unexpected. ‘That – that sounds like defeat to me,’ he manages at last.

The demon makes a derisive noise. ‘You are human, that’s why. My kind learns quickly and –’ He breaks off, watching Jisung silently for a long moment. Then, slower: ‘Will you keep another secret for me, princeling?’

‘Oh.’ The startled response escapes before Jisung can swallow it. ‘Yes,’ he hastily continues. ‘I will.’

Chains clink and rattle as the demon shifts position. ‘No matter what you are told, understand one thing – this was a first attempt only. The second attempt will go better.’

The absolute confidence in the demon’s voice makes the dutiful part of Jisung sit up and pay attention. He should report this. Tell the ministers, tell his father what the demon has told him. It’s his responsibility, as prince of this kingdom.

_I should._ His heart pounds in his ears at the thought. _But I won’t._

‘Oh,’ Jisung repeats softly.

‘Enough talking,’ the demon mutters, slumping down. ‘I need to eat.’

Jisung swallows, digesting the new information. ‘Scream,’ he says, drawing his long knife.

The demon goes still, his focus completely shifting to the blade, and Jisung yanks up his sleeve, baring his arm.

‘Scream,’ he repeats. ‘There are appearances to keep up, remember?’

Then he slices the back of his forearm, blood instantly welling up and trickling over his skin. He smears it along the knife, wincing at the sharp burn, and with no warning, the demon snarls loud enough to make Jisung’s ears ring.

Lowering the blade, Jisung nods. ‘That ought to do it.’

‘And what about when one of your soldiers brings my food in?’ the demon growls. ‘I have no injury.’

Jisung freezes, about to pull his sleeve back down over his arm. _Shit._ How had he forgotten that bit? He purses his lips, setting the blade down on the stones as an idea comes to him. The only question is if he trusts the demon, but at this point, he doesn’t think he has much choice.

He deliberately steps closer to the demon, coating his fingers in his own blood. ‘Don’t kill me.’ Another step. ‘It won’t help you.’ A third step puts him within the demon’s reach, his throat dry. ‘They’ll just kill you too.’

Jisung sinks into a crouch, inches from the demon, holding that gleaming gaze. His skin prickles, instincts screeching at him to move away from a creature so very dangerous. Ignoring them, he instead slowly extends his bloodied hand to brush over the side of the demon’s abdomen, both of them flinching at the contact.

‘Sorry,’ Jisung mumbles, painting more of his blood onto the demon.

He’s pretty sure the demon doesn’t breathe for the entire time that he is there, not relaxing a single muscle until Jisung decides he’s done enough (his arm is starting to ache, as well) and skitters back.

‘Just – just don’t anyone look at it too closely,’ Jisung stutters, adrenaline pumping at his boldness.

He gets no reply, only a heavy stare, and a moment later, he’s out of the dungeon and hurrying up the steps, lantern in one hand and blade in the other.

‘Your Highness,’ the most senior guard murmurs with a brief bow when Jisung comes into view. Another guard is quick to take the lantern, while the first continues, ‘Shall I lock the doors now?’

‘No,’ Jisung snaps, visibly startling them all. ‘It requires feeding. Select an appropriate prisoner and take them down this way.’

The four guards exchange uncertain glances and Jisung channels his father.

‘Do you question my orders?’ he barks. ‘The demon will not die on my watch. I’d like to see any of _you_ go six months without food.’

That gets them going. It takes only a few minutes for a terrified prisoner to be dragged from their cell by two guards and hauled down the stairs, their panicked cries echoing all the way. Then the cries become broken shrieks of pain and the guards reappear a minute later, looking distinctly queasy. Jisung nods at the senior guard, giving him permission to lock the doors, before taking back the keys and leading them all out of the dungeons, knife still in hand.

Fortunately, no-one seems to notice the blood seeping into the dark fabric of Jisung’s sleeve.

The king returns home not long before Jisung’s seventeenth birthday, celebration preceding him and half the army. Jisung hears the news a hundred times, spun a thousand ways, but the gist is that the monstrous demon horde has been repelled, their miserable attempt at conquest crushed. Those are the words the bard uses, when Jisung finds her practising a new song in the king’s honour.

The army makes a procession through the capital city and even from the lofty heights of the castle, Jisung can hear the cheering. There is plenty of clamour and bustling around him, too, as the castle prepares to host a celebratory feast in the main hall. Everything is timed perfectly so that by the time the king arrives, it’s all ready to begin. From his father’s right hand side, Jisung watches the night unfold as quietly as he can get away with. It doesn’t take long for everyone to be knee deep in ale and wine and there is entertainment aplenty, whether in the form of jesters and acrobats or lively tales of glory from the bard or dances. The king doesn’t pay much attention to Jisung, for which he is infinitely grateful. He rises for a few dances with assorted knights, nobles, and nobles’ children, but beyond that, stays in his seat and keeps his eyes open as wide as his mouth is shut.

It is as he spins from the arms of a young woman into those of a veteran knight newly returned from the south that Jisung comes to a quiet realisation. For all that he wishes the bloodshed to end, the cruelty and violence to stop, he knows it is a child’s desire to dream that this war will not demand more before it comes to an end. It is unavoidable and he must accept that. He won’t let his father win, he _won’t_ , but his first responsibility is to the people of this kingdom.

_A good king puts the wellbeing of his people before himself._

His mother’s words come suddenly to mind and Jisung smiles as he accepts the hand of his next partner, a retired general who once fought alongside his grandfather. They step together and away, together and away, hands always in contact, and his mind turns to thoughts of debt and atonement. The song finishes and light applause echoes around the hall as the partners all bow to one another and Jisung returns to the high table.

_And any king worth his salt learns quickly how to make tough decisions. One day, you will have to make those decisions, my darling boy._

Jisung’s smile remains relaxed but his eyes glaze over, his attention turned inward. There’s a vague feeling of foreboding in his gut, one that lasts through the rest of the banquet and into the small hours of the morning, when the king inevitably drags them down to the dungeons. He’s drunk on victory and alcohol, gloating about all the demons he murdered, how he and his war council are building a plan to siege the mountains and eradicate demonkind from the world forever. For once, the king does not direct Jisung to hurt the demon, quite possibly forgetting his son’s presence in the shadows behind him.

There is a brief moment, when the king at last leaves, that Jisung and the demon are alone in the cold stone room.

‘How long?’ Jisung hisses, not daring to be specific, feet already carrying him towards the door.

Silver eyes glow dully in the gloom. ‘No less than a year, no more than two,’ the demon rasps.

Jisung hurries away before anyone’s suspicions are raised, his pulse pounding like a war drum beneath his skin. That’s his timeframe, then, that’s how long he has to keep the demon alive for. That’s how long _he_ has to stay alive.

Over the next eighteen months, Jisung is away from the castle more than he is in it. His father has no intentions of killing the demon yet, but Jisung’s presence is a variable. By staying away, ostensibly touring the kingdom and learning how to be a good king-in-waiting, he cannot have a weapon forced into his hand with the order to torture the demon, cannot refuse and incite his father’s rage, cannot risk life-threatening punishment for himself and the demon.

Then news of the first attack comes and Jisung is ordered back to the capital.

Sickly anticipation pools in the prince’s veins for the whole trip home, knowing that the strength of his vow to himself will soon be tested. This attack was unlike the last ones – instead of slow and creeping, working its way up to a crescendo, it was fast and brutal and merciless. Confidential reports say that an entire town was slaughtered, not a single soul left alive, and Jisung feels ill. Is this his only choice? Genocide of one kind or the other? He decides he’ll create a third option, carve it out of the ashes of the old with his bare hands, if he must.

His mother, he thinks, would be proud of him.

As expected, the king is in a towering fury and everyone has somewhere else to be, something else to do, anything to keep them out of his way. Jisung whole-heartedly wishes that he too could make an excuse to avoid his father’s company, but alas, the duty of his blood binds him.

Jisung hasn’t been back in the castle for even an hour before he’s hurrying to keep pace with his father as they stride down familiar stairs. Keys rattle, the locks clank, heavy doors swing open, and shadows illuminate the demon’s pale body against the old stones. The guard who always accompanies them down here wordlessly retrieves a cat o’ nine tails from behind the iron grate door and offers it to the king, who seizes it.

The demon barely has time to look up before the knotted ends of the whip strike his torso, arms, and face. He yowls and recoils.

‘You _filthy fucking creatures,’_ the king snarls, utterly incensed. He lashes out again and the demon yelps. ‘Why can’t you _see_ when you’re beaten? Why must you continue to _test me?’_

Jisung’s hands are clenched into bloodless fists behind his back as he silently bears witness to his father’s cruelty.

‘I will not forgive this,’ the king spits. Drops of blood fly after the next strike. ‘I will kill _every one of you_ and you, their precious _king_ , will live to see it.’

King. This demon is their _king_. Oh gods. Oh _gods._

‘Jisung,’ his father barks, suddenly turning on his heel, and Jisung’s stomach drops to his feet.

The bloodied whip is held out to him and he struggles to regulate his breathing, not to hyperventilate. Beyond his father, the demon is slumped against the wall, bleeding and making quiet noises of pain.

_And any king worth his salt learns quickly how to make tough decisions._

Jisung licks his lips and shakes his head. ‘No, Father. It has been punished enough. I won’t do it.’

_One day, you will have to make those decisions, my darling boy._

Blood rushes to the king’s face, his expression one of sheer wrath. Jisung knows what’s coming before it is said.

‘It is _my_ decision when enough is enough.’ The king’s voice shakes with the force of his anger. ‘You will be whipped in its stead.’

There it is.

The guard roughly tears Jisung’s shirt open from the back and a bench is brought in, which he is manhandled over so his torso lies along the length of it. His wrists are bound with heavy leather cuffs to an iron ring attached to the floor and as the cool air washes over his skin, the gravity of his situation settles like cement in his bones. His breath quickens and his back prickles with hyper-sensitivity, as if anticipating the pain will make it any more bearable.

Behind him, his father growls, ‘You disgust me.’

_And you me_ , Jisung thinks.

There’s the faint whistling sound of something moving at speed through the air and the cat’s tails bite into his skin, burning like fire. His teeth slam together as an awful sound, half scream, half rasping groan rips itself out of him.

The whip falls again, the burn increases, and Jisung’s mind whites out.

_Crack_.

He nearly bites the end of his tongue off, almost wishes he had because bleeding out would stop the pain.

_Crack_.

He nearly dislocates his elbow yanking at the cuffs and barely feels the burn, the entire expanse of his back ablaze.

_Crack_.

Crushed glass scrapes his throat raw as he _screams oh gods his head it hurts it hurts it HURTS –_

_Give it to me, lean on me, use me,_ a guttural voice growls from the midst of the pain and Jisung doesn’t think, _can’t_ think.

_Crack_ goes the whip and he hasn’t taken a breath so he howls silently as everything is drowned out by the furious snarls ricocheting in his skull, ordering him to _give it, give the pain, push it to me –_

Jisung pushes because he can’t see, he can’t breathe, he can’t do anything except _feel the fucking pain so he pushes and pushes and –_

His body goes limp, muscles slackening at the sudden release of tension. It’s almost like he’s been coated in a numbing salve and all he’s left with are echoes of sensation. Then the cat slashes his shoulders and it all comes back for one excruciating split second before its sucked out of him, his head ringing with pained roars that _aren’t his so whose are they?_

He’s delirious, Jisung knows this very vaguely, but he also knows that there’s _someone in his head_ and they’re taking his pain, taking the punishment he’s meant to be bearing in place of –

Of –

Of –

The demon.

He’s too far gone to be able to form words, let alone string a sentence together, but the realisation crashes through him like a wave and between the voice’s – the _demon’s_ rough cries, Jisung gets the impression of sharp teeth drawn back in a bloody grin. An extended moment of numbness before the next blow allows for a flash of understanding – despite Jisung’s efforts, the demon is _still_ the one shouldering the brunt of the whipping. His throat is shredded, his voice hoarse, but his next husky shout is dual-toned, carrying pain and _denial_ , the demon has suffered _enough_ , and Jisung tries to pull the pain back into himself.

He tastes blood in his mouth as he _screams_ , the demon bellowing his fury inside his head or outside it or maybe both.

The ache in his skull spikes and he knows the demon is reaching further, digging in his claws, trying to drag the pain from him by brute force but Jisung _refuses –_

_No! Give it to me!_

He can’t tell whose thought that is but the whip strikes him again and his whole body spasms, his mind splintering into fragments that drip one by one into the abyss. A grey haze settles over everything and he hovers on the edge of unconsciousness for an unknowable, endless time.

Jisung has no sensation of being released from the cuffs, no awareness of his father and the guard leaving the dungeon, of the whip being locked away.

The first thing to break through the shroud is a gruff voice that won’t shut up, won’t let him sleep. He tries to frown in displeasure, but he’s not sure it works.

_Wake up, princeling. If you stay here, you will bleed until you are too weak to climb the stairs. Your wounds will get infected. Get up. Get_ up. _I can’t help you, so you must be strong. Princeling, get_ up!

Jisung... has no idea if that voice is in his head or outside it but the words are sharp and nagging and he finds the will to open his eyes a sliver. He regrets it immediately, droplets of sweat or tears sliding between his lashes and stinging.

One blink. Two.

_Good start. Move carefully._

Even that is beyond Jisung for a while, his entire body protesting vociferously when he so much as contracts a muscle. But the demon’s voice never leaves him, constantly prodding him, keeping him awake, making him try again. When he eventually manages to push himself up onto his hands, his strength leaves him almost at once and Jisung collapses, gracelessly sliding off the bench to the floor. The raw flesh of his back meets rough stone and pain stabs through him, stealing his breath on a guttural sob. The low growl that rings out echoes off the walls and Jisung knows that that one’s not just in his head.

Tears fall freely from his eyes as he drags himself to his hands and knees, head hanging as his vision swims. Every breath is a struggle but the demon only snarls louder when he stops, so he inhales again and crawls to the wall to slowly haul himself upright.

_Chan._

Jisung blinks hazily, staring vacantly at the stones he’s leaning against. _What?_ He hasn’t the strength for verbal words.

_My name, princeling._

Jisung lets his eyes drift shut for just a second. _Chan._ He rolls the name around on his tongue, fits it to his idea of the demon, all silver eyes and silver hair, skin pale and bloody, sharp teeth and – and –

_Pleasure to make your acquaintance, King Chan._

That earns him a sound that sounds distinctly disgruntled, but not very life-threatening.

_Chan_ , the demon reiterates firmly.

_Hmm._ Jisung forces his eyes back open and takes another wobbly step towards the door, clinging to the wall for balance. _Didn’t know you could – do this. Thought it was a fairy tale._

_Most stories have a grain of truth to them,_ Chan says.

It’s a strange sensation. The air is still and quiet in the dungeon but Jisung can definitely hear the words being spoken. Just... not with his ears.

By the time he reaches the door, he’s utterly exhausted and the thought of climbing the stairs is truly daunting. Maybe he could lie down and have a nap first?

Chains clank quietly behind him, Chan shifting restlessly. _No. If you lie down, you won’t get back up. Go and find a healer._

Jisung looks back over his shoulder, peering curiously at the shadowy figure across the room. _Didn’t you want to kill me? On that note – why the hell are you helping me?_

Chan takes a moment to reply. _There are lines we cross, princeling, and there are lines we do not._

He makes no further comment and Jisung absolutely doesn’t have the energy to try and parse some meaning out of that right now, so he just says, _Stay alive,_ and begins the arduous task of ascending the steep staircase.

Jisung feels Chan’s silent presence in the back of his head all the way up, retreating only when he reaches the top. He tries not to pay attention to the emptiness left in the demon’s wake.

The king confines Jisung to his rooms, but he really doesn’t mind. It means he has no reason to do anything other than lie around on his front, shirtless, as the open wounds on his back slowly close and heal. The healer warned him they’d scar, which he’d expected. As long as they don’t cause any lasting damage, Jisung couldn’t care less. He knows he’d be having the nightmares with or without the physical reminder of his punishment, his father’s cruel rage. They come to him most nights, pain-drenched visions of the king’s cold voice and an unwavering hand wielding a whip against heavily scarred, blood-splattered flesh. Invariably, Jisung wakes from them in a blind panic, nightclothes damp with sweat. His head aches, too, but he never feels or hears anything to indicate Chan’s presence.

Two months pass and, miraculously, none of Jisung’s wounds get infected. They’ve scabbed over and become tender scars. At least they’re not itchy anymore. News of what’s happening outside his wing is scarce, as none of the servants are allowed to talk to him about anything other than what they are there for. Only the healer murmurs a thing or two, but her appointments with him have ended now that Jisung’s back is more or less mended.

So when the king and his Master of Keys pay him a very early morning visit, false dawn still two hours away, Jisung knows that the fight against the demons has either gone extremely wrong or extremely right.

His father is brief and concise.

‘The time has come, Jisung, for you to prove your loyalty to this kingdom once and for all.’ His voice is hard, his tone unforgiving. ‘The demon horde lies not five miles from our city’s gates. When they reach us, I will have them look upon the severed head of their pathetic lord.’

Ah.

‘I understand, Father,’ Jisung murmurs, tension coiling in his belly in the knowledge that tonight is the night. Everything comes down to this.

‘You will need this,’ the king continues, and he holds out a sheathed sword.

It’s one of Jisung’s, removed along with all his other weapons when he was placed under house arrest. He accepts it wordlessly.

‘Do not fail me.’

The words incite a hysterical urge to laugh in Jisung, one he barely manages to restrain. He failed his father years ago, simply by thinking that perhaps wholesale murder wasn’t the best form of interspecies relations. He bows in apparent acquiescence with the order because there is no other acceptable response and then the king sits on a couch and declares that he will wait for Jisung to return with his prize.

Dressed only in a light linen shirt and trousers for sleep, Jisung and the lean, red-coated Master of Keys make their way to the dungeon. A long dagger hangs from the lean man’s belt and Jisung swallows around the realisation that he’s going to have to kill him or risk being gutted himself. As expected, the Master of Keys unlocks the doors for Jisung, accompanying him down into the eternally cold dungeon. The prince’s pulse skitters under his skin as Chan looks up at their entry. He tries to hail the demon with his mind but receives no response, which is really very unhelpful.

‘His Majesty has deemed it time to put an end to your sorry existence and relieve you of your head, demon,’ the lean man sneers.

Chan shifts into a crouch, lips curled back from his sharp teeth as he hisses up at them. His attention flickers to Jisung as the prince draws his sword and the Master of Keys laughs nastily. Suddenly, Jisung minds less what he is about to do. Silver eyes widen and Jisung knows the demon has read his intentions. His knuckles tighten around the pommel.

‘What a hideous trophy you will make,’ the lean man muses and it really is too easy for Jisung to take a half step forward, lift his sword, pivot, and stab him right through the throat.

Flesh gives way easily and blood pours out around the blade as the man’s blue eyes bulge, silent but for a wet gagging noise. Jisung rips his sword free and blood fountains out of the wound, some of it splattering Jisung when he doesn’t move out of the way fast enough. The Master of Keys collapses to his knees and then his side, clutching desperately at his throat, pained horror in his expression as he stares up at Jisung. It takes him less than a minute to stop twitching, his blood all over the floor and drenching his red coat.

‘What have you done, princeling?’

Jisung jolts back to life, dropping his sword and spinning around to face Chan. Disbelief at his own daring joins the terror, the resolve, the desperation he feels, knowing that there is only a small window of time for him to act. He drops into a crouch so he and Chan are eye to eye, the demon’s expression openly shocked.

‘Your people, the other demons, they’re here, they’ve arrived,’ Jisung gasps, tripping over his words in his rush to get them out. ‘My – the king wants your head on display for them but you – you have to survive. You must _live_. You are the only hope I have of an outcome that is not the complete devastation of one of our kinds.’ His hands tremble, but he seizes the chains that bind Chan’s arms, leaning in close. ‘Kill the king, take the price we owe you for – for _this_ , for decades of torture and imprisonment but please –’ he hates that his voice breaks – ‘please, don’t murder my people. We coexisted less than a century ago, didn’t we? I understand if you cannot forgive us, but I beg you to not follow in my father’s footsteps.’

‘And where do you plan to be, while all this is happening?’ Chan demands, anger snapping in his tone.

Right. Yes. That bit.

_Deep breath, here we go._

‘Your cuffs have no locks. The only way they’re coming off is with brute force, which you are too weak for.’ Jisung licks his lips, gaze flicking between fiercely narrowed silver eyes. ‘I... I am of royal lineage and do not have many stains –’ _don’t look at the body, don’t look at the body_ – ‘on my soul. My blood will strengthen you enough to escape. I offer it to you willingly.’

Yes, he’d done some surreptitious reading about blood magic during his time away from the capital.

Chan recoils, his scowl ferocious. ‘I will not _kill you_ to free myself, princeling.’

Alarm hums in Jisung’s veins, urgent and electric. ‘You _must,’_ he hisses. ‘My life is not worth yours and all of those that will be stolen, all of those that have _already_ been stolen, if you do not take my blood. This is beyond me, Chan, beyond both of us. You are a _king_ , surely you know your duty to your people.’

A guttural snarl rumbles out of Chan’s chest. ‘What good is a king if he has no _heart?’_

Jisung barely has time to blink in confusion and helplessly ask, ‘What?’ before the demon grabs one of Jisung’s forearms in his clawed hand and brings it up to his mouth.

‘Do not die or I will be most displeased,’ Chan orders, and then he sinks his teeth into the delicate underside of Jisung’s wrist.

Jisung stiffens at the sharp pain, a whimper escaping his lips before he presses them tight together, but he doesn’t jerk away. He lets Chan cradle his arm as he drinks, tangling his free hand in dull, matted curls both to ensure the demon doesn’t stop and to ground himself as the first wave of dizziness hits him. Chan shudders, his sinuous shoulder muscles flexing, and Jisung lets his mouth curl up in a smile, his first in too long. A leaden numbness creeps up his arm and he can’t hold back a wince, a dull ache underlying the feeling. His head spins and he sways forward, silver hair sliding between his fingers as he fails to maintain his grip. It’s alright, though, because Chan keeps drinking, doesn’t stop when he feels Jisung weakening against him. Jisung’s thoughts slow, becoming disjointed and difficult to string together, but he doesn’t panic.

Can’t panic, really...

Too... too tiring...

Jisung blinks, only he must’ve had his eyes shut longer than intended because when he sluggishly opens them, there’s no more tugging sensation on his wrist and oh, he seems to be lying down. There’s a hand on his face, patting insistently, and he can hear a voice speaking at him, like distant thunder, can feel it vibrating against his skin –

Hmm. That’s odd.

He drags his eyes open wider, glimpsing silver in the shifting shadows. Is... he being _held?_

_Princeling._ The word echoes in his head. _I need you to concentrate, stay with me._

Jisung’s head clears slightly and he sucks in a deep breath, trying to shake off the heavy fog.

_Yes, like that, good. Keep –_

The voice – no, he knows this, come _on_ , brain, _work_ – Chan’s voice cuts off suddenly and there follows a series of jarring movements which Jisung is fairly certain result in him lying limply on the ground. Metallic clanging, raised voices, and violent snarls ring out off to his right, something he fuzzily knows to be concerning. It takes far too much effort to roll his head on his neck and still more to understand exactly what he’s seeing.

Chan steps directly into the lantern’s light and rips a guard’s head off clean off his shoulders with a horrific squelching crunch, blood spraying everywhere. He drops the two pieces of the man, bats aside the lunging sword of another guard with his bare hand and grabs the shrieking guard’s face, dropping to one knee and slamming the man’s skull into the stone floor. He avoids a strike from the final guard by spinning away back to his feet, which places him behind the armoured man. Chan moves fast as a viper, snapping the guard’s neck before he’d even turned around.

Silence fills the dungeon as the demon stands amongst the bodies of his enemies, barely breathing hard, pale skin streaked liberally with glistening blood. He looks feral and vicious.

Like a demon.

Silver eyes find Jisung’s and Chan is at his side in a split second of whiplash-fast movement, checking with careful hands and a quivering nose that none of the blood on Jisung is his own.

_A demon, yes,_ the prince muses, his mind yet floaty, _but not a monster._

He may not be entirely _compos mentis_ right now, but the sudden burst of violence has jogged Jisung’s memory with regard to the details of their current predicament. It also reminds him that he should probably be bleeding out from a serious bite wound on his arm, but when he tips his head to look down, Jisung sees that the bite is startlingly neat and has been licked clean. It’s not even bleeding anymore. There’s no time to dwell on that, though, and he tries to speak, to urge Chan to hurry and escape before every guard in the castle was called down here. However, his tongue is thick and heavy in his mouth and the most he can get out are feeble little groans of distress.

‘I know the stakes, princeling,’ Chan clucks reprovingly. ‘I will take care of everything now, so hush. The blood loss had weakened you greatly.’

Jisung’s brows twitch together as he directs a puzzled frown up at the demon, who has turned away and is... stripping one of the dead soldiers of their trousers, which he has to belt around his narrow waist. Chan also takes the Master of Keys’ bloodstained red coat. It’s loose on him, of course, but somehow his shoulders still manage to fill the width.

The confusion in Jisung’s mind increases and Chan mutters, ‘We’re going to stick out no matter what but any camouflage is better than none at all.’

_We?_ Jisung wonders. Then he realises that Chan means to take him with the demon and he huffs in as firm a rejection as he can produce while lying, jelly-like, on the ground.

Strong arms scoop him up and Chan holds Jisung close, those fierce silver eyes staring down at him. ‘You think I would leave you to the tender mercies of your sire? Absolutely not, you’re coming with me.’

Jisung growls softly, the sound one of pure frustration, and manages to form a weak fist with one hand, shoving it against the demon’s chest so lightly he’s not sure Chan really felt it. Chan growls right back at him, lips drawn back from sharp teeth not quite clean of blood. Naturally, his one sounds much more impressive, vibrating through Jisung’s body for all that it is quietly done.

_You need to survive,_ Jisung thinks a touch desperately. _I’ll slow you down._

Dipping his head, Chan skims his nose up Jisung’s temple, inhaling deeply. ‘You must survive as well, princeling,’ he hums. ‘Your people will soon be in need of a new king and I would trust no other on the human throne.’

Jisung swallows through a tight throat, blinking dazedly.

‘Enough talk,’ Chan says abruptly. ‘I sense growing agitation above us. Time to go.’

Whatever Jisung expected the demon to do next, it was not to go over to the iron grate door. He’s never been through it, but he’d thought there was nothing more than an awful torture chamber on the other side. He doesn’t waste his limited strength asking, simply remaining watchful as Chan sets him down by the door so he can lean against the wall. Jisung flushes at his own weakness, but is quickly distracted when Chan grips two of the bars and rips the whole door off its hinges with a harsh shriek of warping metal. The effort barely seems to faze him and a moment later, he has Jisung in his arms again.

Darkness envelops them as they leave the old dungeon, but Chan never falters and, after everything else, it is no hardship to trust the demon now. Cool air surrounds them and foul scents fill Jisung’s nose, hinting at the terrible things that have happened here, and he curls up smaller, tucking his head in the crook of Chan’s neck. Strange, perhaps, that he should feel safer in the embrace of a demon than anywhere else. Chan makes no comment, only holds him tighter.

Eventually, they come to a stop.

‘There is a door here,’ Chan murmurs. ‘I’d rather not put you down here, princeling, so hold on.’

Jisung is already holding on as best he can, his hands clenched in the demon’s stolen jacket, and he flinches when Chan’s balance shifts to one leg and he kicks the door open. Wood splinters and gives way beneath the powerful blow and suddenly fresh air washes over them. Jisung blinks rapidly, finding he can see a little by light of the setting half-moon.

He licks his lips, rasping, ‘Where...?’

Chan steps closer to the doorway and Jisung realises with a thrill of alarm that there is no balcony of any sort outside the door, only a sheer drop. The cloak of shadows is too thick for him to see through and he can’t tell how far away the ground is.

_Didn’t know the dungeons were this high up,_ he thinks, puzzled. Surely they were at ground level, if not below it?

‘This is a pit,’ Chan informs him, his words edged in a snarl, ‘where the remains of those from the cells are thrown when your sire has no further use for them.’

Horror chills Jisung’s blood, making him meekly lower his head. ‘Sorry,’ he whispers, tone thick with grief. ‘’m so... so sorry.’

A familiar presence brushes his mind, soothing the ragged edge of his guilt. ‘Any penance you owed for the crimes of your kin has been paid tonight,’ Chan rumbles. ‘Steel yourself, for we will have to climb out of here.’

Jisung gulps. He’s not sure he could stand right now, let alone climb a sheer stone wall, especially when he can barely even _see_. A faint snort ruffles his hair and then he’s manhandled until his legs are wrapped around Chan’s hips and his arms around Chan’s shoulders. Silver eyes glow inches from his face, reflecting the weak moonlight, and Jisung’s not sure if the next wave of dizziness he feels is entirely from blood loss.

‘I will carry you,’ Chan announces.

The position is already tiring Jisung, however, and he lets his uncertainty show plainly in his mind, where Chan will see it.

‘Will you permit me to use my magic on you, princeling?’ the demon asks.

Somewhere in the distance, the clatter of armed soldiers and the long, mournful call of a horn ring out.

‘Yes,’ Jisung replies.

Teeth glint as Chan smiles. ‘Good.’

He hisses a strange word and Jisung feels a sudden tightness swathe his limbs. Even without trying, he knows that he won’t be able to release his grip on the demon. Nothing more is said as Chan carefully manoeuvres them out the broken door and finds footholds and handholds on the stone wall. Jisung’s breath catches when their collective weight is transferred, but he trusts Chan to keep them alive, to get them out of here safely. So he swallows down his anxious whimper and pushes his face against the side of Chan’s neck, inhaling the scent of blood both old and fresh, of whatever perfumes the Master of Keys used, of stale sweat, and, beneath it all, a thread of something intoxicating, sharp like peppermint on the tongue. Jisung is more than a little surprised he’s being allowed to do this, but Chan only hums low in his chest, the rumble reassuring.

Then the demon begins to climb and Jisung can only hang on for the ride. They climb for what feels like an age and he drifts off several times throughout. He can’t tell which direction they’re even going and he certainly doesn’t know where they’re headed. After the events of the night so far, Jisung’s not so sure he particularly cares anyway – he’s just committed treason of the highest order, which leaves him outcast from his own people, but he’s still a human, still the son of demonkind’s most vicious enemy, and that bars him from their side of the line, too. Really, why is Chan bothering to keep him alive at all? It’s not like he owes Jisung. If anything, Jisung has barely tipped the scales a fraction closer to level. He’s done as his mother warned him he would have to do, he’s made the hard choice, thrown caution to the wind – and now what? If, by some miracle, he manages to not get killed by any of the kingdom’s soldiers, he has no doubt the demons will do the job for them.

Jisung flexes his muscles and feels the magic take more of his weight. Why is Chan so intent on protecting him? Surely it would be better –

_Quiet your thoughts, princeling,_ the demon snarls angrily, making Jisung flinch. _Do not consider your sacrifice so paltry. Without you, I would be dead in that dungeon and there would be no chance of anything but slaughter._

_Without me and my family, none of this would have happened at all!_ Jisung protests, self-loathing clogging his throat.

Chan growls out loud, sending a shiver up Jisung’s spine, but he doesn’t cease his climb. _Are you a god, capable of turning back the sands of time? No? Then do not hold yourself accountable for the actions of those who came before you._

_But..._ Jisung squeezes his eyes shut, struggling to form the bitter words. _But this is all_ our _fault. How can you not hate me when I already despise myself?_

They stop moving and a clawed hand finds his chin, forcing it up so Chan can glare at him. Jisung’s heart thuds as a cold breeze tousles their hair, half-expecting to be dropped at any moment.

‘You have done all you could do to right the wrongs of your kin,’ Chan murmurs. ‘Few other paths you could have chosen would have resulted in us both being alive this night, an impressive feat in itself. What greater sacrifice can be made than to lay your life down for not only _your_ people, but also for mine?’ Chan dips his head, the tips of their noses almost touching. ‘You will not die on my watch, princeling. If I must tear this castle down stone by stone to keep you safe, I will do it.’

Jisung is utterly breathless. He licks his lips in an effort to hide how the lower one trembles in response to Chan’s deadly serious promise.

‘I trust you,’ Jisung breathes, because at this very minute, Chan is the _only_ being he trusts and it is oddly important to him that the demon know this. ‘I trust you.’

Chan nudges his nose along the arch of Jisung’s cheekbone. ‘I know,’ he hums approvingly. ‘It is a sweet smell on you.’

Jisung swallows thickly and the hand on his face skims down his throat, gentle knuckles tracing the movement. There is an expression on the demon’s face that speaks of visceral hunger.

‘Do you – do you need more blood?’ Jisung stammers, unsure why is suddenly nervous.

A thrumming sort of purr starts up in Chan’s chest and the look on his face gentles. ‘No, princeling. But we shouldn’t delay here any longer. There is not much further to go now.’

So Jisung curls up around the demon once more and their journey resumes. False dawn tinges the horizon deep blue and he can make out a little more of their surroundings now, recognising that they’re somehow on a tower towards the east wing. Somewhere over by the front of the castle, the clamour of soldiers increases and Jisung realises with a sick feeling that the troops are assembling for battle. Chan pauses his climb again when they are high enough up the tower to be able to see past the castle and down the hill. To the west lies the city, but Chan faces the horizon, nostrils flaring.

‘That way lies your army,’ Jisung mumbles, throat scratchy with cold.

‘Yes. They will fight with the rising sun at their backs.’

Jisung’s heart clenches. ‘Are – are they coming now?’

‘Not yet,’ Chan replies. ‘They will come with the dawn if I don't call them.’

‘Huh?’ Jisung squeaks, blinking owlishly up at the demon. ‘Do they know you’re _here?’_

Chan looks slightly amused. ‘Of course. My generals will have felt my power spike when I drank your blood.’

‘Oh. So... will you call them?’

A wicked smile curls up the corners of the demon’s mouth. ‘Cover your ears, princeling.’

Before Jisung can point out that he actually can't because his hands are still magically locked around Chan’s shoulders, Chan takes a deep breath in and _screams._ Well, it’s more of a wail, really, but it’s ear-shatteringly loud and piercing and closer to the howl of a wild animal than anything a human throat could replicate. Jisung contorts himself so he’s got one ear covered by his shoulder and the other jammed against Chan’s chest, but that doesn’t do much to protect him and his head is ringing by the time Chan falls silent a minute or so later. He feels Chan’s chest vibrate under his head, knows the demon is speaking again, but Jisung’s ears are numb and the words are reduced to distant, blurry sounds.

_Shit, didn’t realise it would be that strong for you,_ Chan grumbles in the back of Jisung’s head.

Jisung whines in pain, burrowing deeper into the demon’s hold. A gentle hand brushes over the back of his head and he feels more than hears magic being used, sighing in relief when the fierce ache in his skull lessens.

_Alright, this next bit’s going to be exciting, so hang on tight, princeling._

Chan’s meaning is immediately made clear when he suddenly launches them backwards off the wall into thin air. Jisung hasn’t the air in his lungs to shriek and he’s too shocked, anyway. They land hard enough to make him gasp and then Chan’s running like he’s a professional athlete as opposed to someone who’s been tortured for decades and is carrying sixty kilograms of limp human on his front. Jisung’s eyes are wide open but the predawn shadows are thick and Chan doesn’t slow, racing around the castle like he’s done it a thousand times before.

Cries of alarm and warning echo around the grounds, the guards’ attention unsurprisingly having been caught by the demon’s scream. Gods above, Jisung would be surprised if there was a single soul in a ten-mile radius who hadn’t heard the call. A crossbow bolt whizzes through the air a couple of feet overhead and Jisung’s heart skips a beat. Chan only snarls and ducks under a raised walkway connecting two buildings. He starts climbing the wall, faster than before, and Jisung recognises this as the royal library, one of the castle’s tallest towers. Peering over Chan’s shoulder, he can see the orange glint of torches as soldiers run to and fro, searching for their quarry. None of them come to the far side of the library, but Jisung doubts anyone’s looking high enough to find them anyway.

Chan reaches the flat top of the tower, grunting as he hauls them both up over the low crenellations. He lands on his front and Jisung wheezes as he’s crushed to the stone roof, the sudden weight unexpected. With a muttered curse, Chan rolls over onto his back, taking Jisung with him.

‘Um.’ Their current position and the magic binding Jisung’s arms and legs doesn’t allow for much space between them. ‘You can release me now,’ he says softly. He can feel Chan’s chest rising and falling rapidly beneath him, the demon panting with exertion.

‘Hmm.’ After a considering moment, Chan hisses another foreign word and the magic dissolves. ‘Have a care, princeling, you’re still weak.’

Jisung is very aware of that, though the adrenaline pounding through his veins is making a valiant effort to counteract his blood loss-induced exhaustion. He crawls slowly off Chan, slumping down on the stone next to him. Together, they simply lie there for a few minutes beneath the starry sky, catching their breath.

‘You can take more blood, if – if you need it,’ Jisung mumbles, still gazing upward.

‘No,’ Chan replies in an immediate rejection, despite the ragged edge to his voice. ‘You can’t afford to lose anymore.’

Jisung rolls his head to the side, glaring at the demon. ‘I can if it means you survive to reunite with your people. You’ve exerted yourself a ridiculous amount for someone who just escaped prison.’ He casts a meaningful look over Chan’s slender frame, coated with years’ worth of grime and blood, focusing pointedly on faintly trembling hands. ‘You know I’m willing to –’

‘And has it occurred to _you_ that I am _not willing?’_ Chan snarls, pushing up onto one elbow. His forehead furrows sharply. ‘I have already sworn to keep you safe, princeling, and I don’t break my word carelessly.’

‘Yes, and that was _very_ kind of you,’ Jisung rushes out, trying not be impatient, ‘but one life does not outweigh _thousands_. Do you have no concept of duty?’

‘Would you _stop_ going on about that,’ Chan snaps, leaning in closer for emphasis. ‘My duty is my own and I have decided that, at present, it is to keep you alive, you infuriating human.’

Jisung’s brows shot up and he found the strength to mirror Chan’s pose, unwilling to continue this conversation while flat on his back. ‘Oh, _I’m_ infuriating? That’s bloody rich. Why are you still here? Don’t you have an army to lead? I’m hardly going to find any trouble up here.’

The growl that rumbles out of Chan’s chest is utterly inhuman and a fresh wave of adrenaline crashes through Jisung. Shining silver eyes pin him in place and the demon crowds him back, an arm braced across the prince’s torso. It takes every shred of willpower Jisung possesses not to crumble beneath the intensity in that stare and collapse onto his back again.

(He isn’t scared. He knows Chan won’t hurt him.)

‘You,’ Chan breathes, ‘have a knack for finding trouble, princeling. You will forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.’

Jisung inhales unsteadily. ‘So you would treat me like an errant child, then?’ He doesn’t know why he’s pushing. The fact that he’s still alive right now should be enough.

(A lie. He knows, he knows.)

‘You’re behaving like one,’ Chan murmurs, unblinking. ‘How else would you have me treat you?’

Gritting his teeth, Jisung retorts, ‘I am a king-in-waiting, soon to be king and your _equal_ , or I am dead. I leave the choice up to you, but those are your options.’

A flash of sharp teeth as the corner of Chan’s mouth ticks up in an unexpected grin. ‘I propose a third option.’

Jisung’s stomach swoops and barrel rolls with carefree abandon, his scowl softening to cautious interest. ‘What is it?’

Chan cocks his head slightly and his breath washes over Jisung’s lips, those piercing silver eyes catching every flicker of a reaction. ‘There are only so many ways I can spell it out for you. Let me treat you as you deserve, but I think you have never been treated. Let me keep you safe. Let me tear down your kingdom and rebuild it with you.’

Not for the first time tonight, Jisung is breathless. ‘And if I say no?’ he whispers. ‘Will you string me up with my father? Throw me from the rooftop?’

A low hiss emanates from Chan as he goes very, very still. ‘Never,’ he denies vehemently.

The dizziness rocking Jisung is by no means all from blood loss and his voice is small, vulnerable, a hair’s breadth from disbelieving as he replies, ‘Alright. You can treat me as just... Jisung.’

Has anyone done that since his mother’s death?

Tension drains from Chan’s stiff frame and he blinks lazily. ‘It will be my honour, Jisung.’

Then he cups one side of Jisung’s face and kisses him, slow and sweet and deep. Jisung shivers, lifting a hand to rest it against the bare skin of Chan’s chest, unnaturally cool but the heartbeat almost as fast as his own. When his strength deserts him, his bones melting beneath the gentle touches, Jisung lets Chan guide his head to the ground again, never breaking the kiss. The stars fade from view overhead as the sky lightens and the clanging, crashing, screeching cacophony of battle starts up below them. A rapidly shrinking piece of Jisung thinks they should be paying more attention to that, but the rest of him is easily seduced by Chan’s clever mouth, warm and wet and eager.

As the new day dawns, power swings in the balance of blades against flesh and blood spilled on the dewy grass. Mostly, though, it lies in the give and take of a demon and a human intertwined.

Jisung has chosen to stand behind the line separating men from monsters. Happily, this is _not_ the line his father has chosen to stand – and die – behind.

(The king is dead. Long live the king.)

**Author's Note:**

> 1) THIS WAS MEANT TO BE SHORT. 4K OR LESS. I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED.
> 
> 2) im (gay) very stressed with irl things presently. can't promise any more content in the near future. if any of you follow me on the blue hell app, this is why i haven't been active lately.
> 
> 3) if geralt doesn't apologise to jaskier pronto _so help me god -_
> 
> EDIT /// [GUYS WE HAVE A WHOLE BUNCH OF FANART BY TWO AMAZING HUMANS PLS LAVISH YOUR PRAISE UPON THEM](https://twitter.com/szokserek/status/1293610376295219200?s=19)
> 
> [AND WE HAVE A RUSSIAN TRANSLATION TOO!!!](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9578777)


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